


Feast For Fools

by karuvapatta



Series: Loki Really Wants To Bang His Brother AU [4]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:09:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3527024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor goes searching for Loki and then both of them get caught in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feast For Fools

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of my tumblr fic. The prompt was "sad porn", so, er. Enjoy!

The place is a small bubble of reality, balanced on the edges between realms so that Heimdall himself cannot see it. In truth, even from his current vantage point there's very little to be seen – a patch of dark rock hovering against the brilliant, multi-coloured sky. And upon the rock, there's a house. Thor doesn't even need to search for the familiar traces of magic to know who lives here.

A heavy, sinking feeling sets in his stomach. He cannot stand how very _Asgardian_ this place is – from the opulent decorations, heavy golden light, open airy spaces, the fountain in the middle of the room, and all the way to the supply of mead Thor is now exploring. He finds a drinking horn and fills it to the brim.

There's a chance, of course, that this is a trap of Loki's making. The protective magic opened up for him with ease, warm and welcoming in a way its master hasn't been in years. But Thor downs the mead in one gulp and tosses the empty horn on the patterned floor. No, Loki would hardly choose poison over gloating.

"I hope you have a good explanation for this," is the first thing Loki says upon his return.

"I have been looking for you," Thor says simply. "You are a criminal and a prisoner of Asgard."

"In here, I am not. This place is outside of Allfather's jurisdiction."

Thor doesn't shift in his position. He has made himself thoroughly comfortable on Loki's bed, drinking his mead and leafing through his books. The grimace on his brother's face fills him with childish, vindictive glee.

"How did you find me?" Loki says. His tone is petulant, demanding. Thor chooses to ignore the question.

"This place looks familiar," he says instead.

Loki must catch his meaning because his face twists in displeasure.

"Does this surprise you?" he says, taking a few slow, measured steps across the room. The architecture might be Asgardian but the view outside is not. The patchwork sky is a kaleidoscopic mixture of foreign universes, and so _wrong_ it's almost painful to look at. "This was the only home I knew. Your parents were quite successful in their attempts to bind me to it."

Thor doesn't respond to the challenge in his voice. He has no more strength to argue.

But there's some unknown quality in Loki's voice – a longing Thor hasn't heard before. A touch of sadness, perhaps. And it stirs something inside Thor, an old instinct he has fought hard to suppress. An urge to reach out, and hold, and reassure; to offer comfort that would be neither welcomed nor appreciated.

This moment of doubt catches Loki's attention. He stands with his hands folded in front of him, and his smile is tight-lipped and sardonic.

"Have you come here to reminiscence about kinder times, brother?" he asks, deceptively soft. "Shall we drink together as we once did?"

"You saved my life," Thor says curtly.

Loki snorts. "Hardly. I spared you some embarrassment, that is all. These creatures were no match for you."

"Why?"

"Why, he asks," Loki says. He comes up to Thor on light, nimble feet, graceful as a dancer. "Has he not learned?" The glint in his hand is the only warning; Thor doesn't flinch, not even when there's a blade pressed to his throat. "No-one gets to harm you."

"Except you?"

"Except me."

Up-close, Loki looks worn-out and older than Thor anticipated. The manic gleam in his eyes, the terrifying naked hunger, all the features Thor has come to expect are still very much there. But his skin seems stretched too thinly across the bones of his face, and expressions flit over it, going from one extreme to another with dizzying speed.

The slide of the blade is slow. The pressure is measured carefully, to hurt but not to harm.

Loki licks his lips. Only now does Thor notice the specks of blood on his armour. Loki's armour, usually kept so meticulously clean—

"Are you now jealous of my enemies, brother?" Thor says. He can plainly see that Loki is injured – his breath hitches faintly every time he inhales. Cracked rib, or heavy bruising?

"I'm always jealous," Loki murmurs. "I thought you knew."

Standing still has never been this painful. His muscles tremble, fighting the grip of his will. He cannot, _will not_ touch Loki. The lesson was hard enough, the first time, the second, the hundredth; Thor has nothing more to give.

He's relieved beyond measure when Loki finally steps away, the knife disappearing in his palm.

From a distance, the veneer of composure Loki dons like a cloak could almost fool him. His brother's posture straightens and he raises his head.

"Why does this surprise you, Thor?" he asks coolly. "It is no great secret that you are all I have left."

"You made it that way," Thor says.

"Oh?" For a moment, the polite disbelief on Loki's face is a perfect image of Frigga. But the venom creeping into his next words shatters this illusion. "And you are blameless. Surely it must be this way. Hasn't it always been, _brother?_ Whatever happened, you would stand by and watch everyone blame _me_ —"

"This isn't true," Thor says calmly. "Your memories are distorted, Loki. You will not make me feel guilty over your twisted perception of events."

He runs his hand over Mjolnir's handle, feeling for the thrum of power. It must be tightly controlled – Loki's stolen plot of unstable land would surely be torn apart by the thunderstorm. But Thor longs to be gone, away from this place, and away from the hateful look on his brother's face.

"You saved my life," he repeats. The point Loki made is valid – Thor has fought his way out of far greater dangers – but a fact is still a fact. "I wished to thank you. That is all."

At this point he knows better than to turn his back on an enemy, especially if that enemy is Loki. But he does it nevertheless, against his better judgement, because he cannot—

"Wait," Loki says, shouts: "How dare you—", and then whispers, desperate, "Don't leave me."

Thor swallows. "I thought my presence here was unwelcome."

"It is," Loki says. "Thor—"

No. He cannot stand here and listen to this – this broken, uncertain note in Loki's voice.

They are brothers no longer; if they must be enemies, so be it. But they cannot be both.

He turns nevertheless, and hates himself for it. Loki's eyes are wide open, his mask cracking at the seams. Every inch of him looks worn-out and mistreated, from the battered armour to the hair that's usually sleek and shiny. Thor has always preferred it that way: soft, twisting in its natural curls, framing Loki's pale face. But he would never say so.

The force that pulls him forward is impossible to resist. He cannot easily shake that which had such a firm hold on him for the past centuries. He wonders, angrily, how did Loki manage it – how could he cast it all aside—

_Perhaps it was never true. Perhaps Thor was deluding himself, imagining a love that has never been real._

But, no, this couldn't be. Not even Loki was that good an actor.

Loki stands perfectly still, not at all reacting to Thor's approach. Nothing betrays his emotions, not even when Thor reaches out to brush away his long hair. Not a single muscle twitches when Thor wraps his hand around the back of his neck.

His thoughts are running wild. It is achingly familiar to hold Loki like that. And, damn it all – Thor misses his brother. A chilling realisation washes down his spine. He's close, too close; close enough to rest his forehead against Loki's. Close enough to be vulnerable to any kind of attack. But Thor knows that, for this moment to last, he would gladly take a knife slipping between his ribs.

"Thor," Loki murmurs, his breath tickling Thor's mouth.

They have been like this, once. Thor remembers it vividly – back when Loki approached him for the first time, and when he was unable to let him go. They would seek one another, caught somewhere between boyish innocence and adult desires, and found the kind of simple joy neither of them could ever reach again. It didn't last, not after Loki's hasty departure. With his head cleared, Thor could finally see the wrongness and shame of lying with his own brother, and then tried his best to pretend it has never happened at all. Loki played along. But he hasn't forgotten. He doesn't think either of them has.

Loki's lips press against his, violent and desperate. Thor doesn't let him draw back, not even an inch, kissing back in a mad, graceless clash of mouth and tongue. He breathes in the familiar scent, traces back every contour of Loki's face, pulls too roughly at his hair and swallows the subsequent moan.

"I missed you," Loki whines, grappling with Thor's armour. "I—damn it, Thor—"

He has changed. Oh, how he has changed. No longer a gangly boy, but a full-grown man, a sorcerer and warrior both. It seems that making enemies wherever he goes gave Loki an edge he lacked in his youth.

But the thought slips from his head, along with any voice of reason. They kiss and Loki's fingers slide across his skin, as clever with bringing pleasure as they are with pain. Thor shivers, trying to fight down the urgency that's boiling his blood and hardening his cock.

"I'm tired," Loki says, stripping them both. Thor's hands scramble around, hindering rather than helping. "I'm just so tired—"

He looks it. Thor brushes his face and presses a kiss to his forehead, letting Loki find shelter in his arms.

They reach the bed and collapse in an undignified heap on top of the covers. It's large enough to accommodate them – and Thor wonders, briefly but hotly, if his brother brings anyone else here. The flare of possessive anger is old and familiar. In his youthful arrogance he couldn't bear the thought of another's hands on Loki.

He takes a moment to gather his wits. They are down to their trousers now, and Loki lies beneath him. There is a nasty bruise on his ribcage; he hisses when Thor brushes his fingers against it. But as he is right now, stripped of his armour, with his flushed face and wide-open, vulnerable eyes – it's not a sight Thor expected to ever see again. And he's beautiful, so very beautiful – Thor ought to tell him, but he cannot find his voice.

He bows his head and kisses Loki's neck, the jut of his collarbones and down over his breastbone. Somewhere in there is Loki's heart; Thor can feel it beneath the palm of his hand and the press of his lips, beating hard and fast. He waits, counts the beats, each and every one like the sound of thunder.

"You left me," he says, and his hands ball into fists. He should strike now, while Loki is utterly defenceless. He should wrap his hands around Loki's neck and end this madness once and for all. Same heart beat in Loki's chest while he was inviting Frost Giants into Asgard, razing their realm with the Bifrost's power, allying himself with the Chitauri, leading an attack against Midgard, tossing Thor down to his death—

"I did," Loki says hoarsely.

Their eyes meet. The vulnerable look on Loki's face must be faked. It must be. If he feels remorse for his actions – no, it's impossible.

"Thor," Loki says, and the name rolls silkily over his tongue. "Brother. What apologies could I make that you might believe?"

Thor trembles with rage. He silences Loki with a savage kiss, drowning out the stream of meaningless words—

"I'm sorry," Loki says in between kisses. "I truly am. I wish I had never lost you. I wish—"

"Shut up," Thor says, because he cannot handle any more lies. He bares Loki completely, with ungentle hands, and kneels between his spread legs. His vision is clouded with red mist, and he can no longer tell anger from desire.

He's familiar enough with the act to know that his preparations aren't adequate. Loki whines, high-pitched and broken, when Thor's fingers slide into his body. He has coated them with some kind of spell, a cantrip that Thor once teased him about – _a terrible abuse of the sacred art of seidr_ , Loki has agreed, in a perfect imitation of the voice of one of their tutors.

Terrible, but useful. Thor pushes in, working Loki open quickly and carelessly. His cock is throbbing, and he wants that heat around him. Wants Loki like this, speared open and helpless, defeated and claimed as Thor's due. He _wants_.

"Brother," Loki says breathlessly. "Please."

It's too much. Thor snarls, shoving Loki's long legs even further apart, curling his fingers around Loki's own cock and jerking him off, hard and fast. His thighs tremble with the effort of keeping himself still. It is not enough – but Loki is so close, slicked open and waiting, and his nails dig into Thor's forearms in a wordless plea.

When has he not indulged Loki, Thor wonders. When has he not given in to his lies, his manipulations, his pretty innocent eyes and clever tongue? What was this, if not another defeat?

He shoves in, relishing Loki's cry. His cock is heavy, thickened and flushed, and Loki's too tight around it; tight and hot and perfect, utterly so.

He gives Loki a second to catch his breath, and accustom himself to the breach. Then his hips snap forward, and he buries himself deep in his brother's body.

Even so, even like this – his hips snap forward, sliding in and out, with increasingly punishing pace. He seeks release he knows he cannot find, not even in this, because Loki is still – Loki is still miles away, hiding behind his walls and secrets, always one step ahead of Thor—

Loki pulls him forward and Thor collapses on top of him. His legs wrap around Thor's waist, urging him deeper, and his lips find Thor's.

"I never lied about that," Loki says brokenly, rising to meet Thor's thrusts. "I never lied about loving you. You know it's true, brother. You _know_."

Does he? No, Thor doesn't know anything anymore, save for the clenching heat around his cock. He blindly searches for Loki's, wraps his hand around its length and pumps it rhythmically. His mouth latches onto Loki's and they exchange breaths rather than kisses. Thor swallows every lie spilling from his brother's tongue. When has he not?

Loki comes first, all his muscles tensing. At long last, he's rendered incoherent – he babbles and then cries out, and Thor feels the sudden splatter of come on his skin.

He pauses then, and his hands shake while he tries to support his weight rather than crush Loki. Loki, who is boneless and covered in a sheen of sweat; his face is flushed red, and his eyelashes flutter open, revealing bright green eyes. His legs drop from Thor's waist. This isn't new. He has always been selfish in his pleasures, but he was also honest. Surely, this—

"I love you," Loki says. It's quiet, emotionless – a statement of a fact he very obviously doesn't want to voice. "I wish I didn't, but I do."

Thor slides out and then pushes back in, his balls tightening. He's close now, very close, and Loki's face is inches from his own, all his defences crumbling; Loki's arms wrap around his neck and shoulders, clinging onto Thor.

"Come home with me," Thor says. It's painful – he does not remember it being this painful.

"I will," Loki whispers.

There're too many raw emotions boiling inside Thor. It is as if they were finally allowed to snap; he fucks in, trembling, scrambling at Loki's skin. The pleasure is an afterthought, following in the wake of feelings kept too long at bay.

He comes inside Loki, and it's like a punch to his gut – violent and sudden, knocking the breath out of him. He collapses, finally, resting his head on Loki's shoulder.

The peace that follows is in their mixed breaths and cooling skin. Loki's fingers play with Thor's hair, and he's silent, blissfully so.

For the first time in years, Thor is content. But behind that contentment lurks terror. He tries to hide from it, burying his face in Loki's arms.

Loki, whose chest is shaking. Loki, who is _laughing_.

"Oh, brother," he says. His voice slips back into cold amusement. "I know you're sentimental, but this was just pathetic."

Thor tenses. His eyes are tightly closed, and he runs, runs like a scared child, towards a place in his mind that would shelter him. A place that wasn't here. Anywhere but here.

He still has enough pride to not let Loki manoeuvre him as he will. They end up facing each other, still twined in this parody of intimacy. Loki's lips are curled in a cruel little smile.

"Oh, Thor," he says fondly. "You aren't crying, are you?"

Thor wishes he wasn't. Wishes Loki had no more power over him. Wishes for great many things, all of them out of reach.

As if reading his mind, Loki moves closer, and his thumb brushes Thor's cheek.

"But I am right here," he says softly. "Brother."

And he kisses the tears on Thor's face, laughing all the while.


End file.
